


Let The Years We're Here Be Kind

by etoilesdeglace



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: A Whole New World Exchange, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Kinda, Outlander AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The FitzSimmons Network, it's an, more than 5k
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4887661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilesdeglace/pseuds/etoilesdeglace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The moment he thought of it, he deemed himself crazy. He wasn't.<br/>The scream was coming from the stone itself.<br/>He reached out to place his palms on the surface of the pillar.</p><p>aka. the Outlander AU where Fitz is a WWII veteran and Jemma is a healer for the clan Mackenzie</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [engineerleopoldfitz (aching_for_distance)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/gifts), [Traviosita9124](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/gifts).



> My gift for engineerleopoldfitz and mrsleopoldfitz on tumblr as part of thefitzsimmonsnetwork's "A Whole New World | More Than 5k" exchange (If you haven't read their work or follow them on tumblr, I highly recommend it as they are one of my favourites in this fandom). The prompt was: "Outlander AU"
> 
> This will be posted in chapters so it will be over the 5k mark but I don't know how long it will end up being because it's not done yet and I keep wanting to add things in because I love this universe so much.
> 
> Title is from "North" by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> Disclaimer: There are some aspects in this that are completely ripped off from the book so credit to Diana Gabaldon for those.
> 
> As always, any feedback and criticism is welcome and I'd love to hear from you guys.
> 
> You can also check out the graphic I made for this [here](http://etoilesdeglace.tumblr.com/post/130033415125/let-the-years-were-here-be-kind-the-realization).

The Mackenzie gathering was a success.

At least Jemma assumed that it had been. No one died or was killed and there had only been one brawl, resulting in minor injuries to both parties; nothing she couldn’t handle. Overall she’d enjoyed the night, maybe indulged a bit too much in the wine provided, gossiped slightly excessively with Skye and flirted with one or two more young clansmen then she should have.

Then again, Dougal and Jamie were constantly bringing up the fact that she was unwed so perhaps excessive flirting on her behalf was in everyone's best interest.

The question of her marital status was increasingly developing into a more pressing issue for the Mackenzies. Jemma was perfectly content deferring to Skye's success as a single woman whenever the topic arose but she knew that she was just delaying the inevitable.  However they would then make the case that Skye was widowed and therefore enjoyed certain benefits that Jemma did not, to which she was forced to agree.

In her heart, Jemma knew that she would have to marry eventually, there was no denying it, and she agreed that the sooner the better so that she would be able to carry and tend for children.

Yet she didn't want to marry for the sake of marriage. She'd grown up in a loving household, her father and her mother had maintained a form of respect between them that Jemma hadn't witnessed in other marriages. She wanted the same thing, she'd lived alone for the duration of her time at Leoch and could make do on her own. The last thing she wanted was for a man to come in and take over everything she'd built for herself through hard work and dedication. It just wouldn't do.

Yes, she needed to find a husband. But no, the position would not be easily filled. She had a long search ahead, but first a good night’s sleep. She’d deal with her hangover and lack of husband tomorrow.

She’d almost reached the surgery when her arm was grasped from behind. All of a sudden there were a pair of lips on hers and the rough and uneven stone of the wall pressing uncomfortably into her back. The dim lighting didn’t allow her to determine the identity of her attacker but the itch of a goatee on her chin and the strength in the large hands that were holding hers above her head indicated that it was a man and not a lad.

“I ken what you did tonight lass.” Dougal. She neither liked nor disliked the clan’s warchief but she had noticed his lingering looks across the dining hall over the past few months and his increasing appearances in the surgery to get his seemingly-constant injuries treated. She’d dismissed it as concern for her well-being, clearly she’d been mistaken. “Teasin’ me like that with all them young lads.”

Her assailant shifted his attention to her neck, giving her the opportunity to wiggle free and deliver a rather forceful impact of her knee near his belt. Whether she hit her target or not she didn’t know but it did the trick and Dougal was shocked long enough to release her hands and step back from her momentarily. The break was just long enough that she was able to grab the stool and bash it over Dougal’s head when he came nearer.

The Scot went down like a log, likely as much due to his insobriety than the hit to the head.  She leaned down to make sure that he was still breathing, the healer in her making her empathetic to the man. Fleeing the scene she couldn’t help but wonder what Dougal meant when he said that she’d been teasing him all night long. Isn’t he the one who wants to marry her off? The adrenaline coursing through her veins was making her heart pound and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Continuing past the surgery, she kept walking towards the kitchen and stables thinking that perhaps the night air would help calm her mind.

She was so focused reviewing her actions throughout the night that she didn’t notice the lump under the straw until she was tripping over it. Her exclamation of surprise mingled with the grunts of the man she’d fallen over caused the horses to stir before realizing that they weren’t being attacked and could return to their slumber.

‘Where are you running off too lass?” Jamie Fraser - known as Jamie MacTavish to others in order to keep his identity hidden - the stable lad and one of Jemma’s friends at the castle rolled out from under the hay to face her, smile wide and teasing. If she didn’t trust the man, she would have been scared of his proximity.

Sitting up and scoffing she replied, “Nowhere Jamie, I just needed to get away from… um, to get some air. You know me.”

Jamie had a knack for reading people and she knew that he could tell that something was wrong. He sat up to face her and handed her the blanket he had been using for warmth against the Scottish night.  “What happened Sassenach?”

She knew what he was asking but was still trying to process the events of the evening and wasn’t quite ready to talk about it yet. Instead she focused on rearranging her skirts and pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders. Apparently, that was all the answer he needed. “Who was it Jemma? What did they do to you?”

“Dougal.” She paused to fiddle with the pendant around her neck. “He didn’t… I didn’t let…. he… um... I… I hit him over the head with a stool.”

Jamie barked out a laugh, cutting sharply through the solemn air that had fallen over the two. “Dinna worry Jemma, he’ll have had enough drink to forget it by morning.” She nodded and he got to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you safely back to your chambers.”

He helped her up and escorted her back to the surgery, hand resting on his sporran and warm presence providing comfort and a sense of safety. It was a silent walk, both enjoying the presence of the other, friends who don’t need to speak to get along. Reaching her door, she tried to give his blanket back but he insisted that she keep it. “You need it more than me Sassenach.”

“The stables are far colder than the surgery Jamie, and I have a fireplace.” Pushing the blanket into his chest she stepped into her doorway.

He attempts to pass the blanket back, the stubbornness of the Fraser clans showing through. “Aye but I’m not going back to the stables.”

“Where will you sleep then? You can’t stay in your room when the Gathering is here or you’d be forced to take their oath.” Over the past year Jamie had always been in need of medical attention and Jemma, the resident healer at the castle, was the one to care for him, giving the pair lots of time to talk.. They’d quickly developed a friendship, and Jemma knew that she was one of the few who knew the truth about Jamie’s identity. She wouldn’t lie and say that she understood the politics of it all but she knew that he couldn’t take the oath to Colum or he’d be set to succeed his uncle as laird of the Clan Mackenzie, which would not be good for anyone. What Jamie needed was to stay tucked away, that’s why he’d been hidden in the stables.

“I’ll be just outside, can’t have any of those men coming down here in search of, um entertainment you ken.”

He had good intentions as always but the level of risk for himself was to high for her to be comfortable with it. “Jamie.”

“Jemma I insist.” Damn that stubborn Fraser blood.

“Fine. But you’re taking this blanket and the quilt I just finished, and a hat to hide your hair if someone comes looking.”

Reluctant at first, he caved when he saw the determination in her eyes. “Aye.” Accepting the bundle she shoves towards him, he nods at his friend with a twinkle in his eye. “Goodnight Sassenach.”

“Goodnight Mr. MacTavish.” He saw his smirk at the use of his alias name as she closed the door.

 

-

 

There was the outbreak of war and the horrors of battle. It swept across the world, dragging in the youth and calling for aid from all who were capable. He knows it’s his duty and he knows he can help. At first it’s not as bad as he feared, training goes smoothly and he’s at the front in no time. He made friends, got promoted to corporal and didn’t die. In terms of life at the front, it could’ve been much worse. The days turned into months then into years.

The day it happened was just another morning on the battlefield. He can remember eating another breakfast of porridge and the flash of light that sent his men scrambling for their weapons. He can remember the smell of gasoline, the screams of his friends, the ringing of shots in the air and the betrayal of his fellow corporal. He can’t remember the bomb going off.

He woke up in the van as it bumped its way down the back roads in France towards the channel, screaming for it all to stop, for the words to make sense in his head and the numbers to add up.

The hospital was crowded but the nurses were nice and they did their best but there wasn’t much that they could do for him. His damage was more internal, damage that no medication or bandage could fix. They knew that something wasn’t quite right though, a fact that was hard to miss when his nightmares prevent him from sleeping, and they withdrew him from active duty. But even damaged, his skills were still too valuable to be wasted. Secretly re-assigned to the RAF Scampton, his contributions towards the strategic and technical planning of the Dambuster’s missions was a huge part of the No.617 Squadron RAF’s success.

Then suddenly, the war was over and he went home.

Back to Inverness, back to the bed and breakfast, back to his mom. And his mother didn’t care if he’d been all over the war and had been integral to some of the most impactful air attacks in the Allied victory - he still had to do the dishes.

There were still nights when he screamed and thrashed about. Dreams of bombs and betrayal and shot down aeroplanes, making him scared to get the sleep he needed. While everyone else in the small town was still running on the high of victory, he was stuck in the mud of the trenches with his friends who didn’t make it. He wasn’t the most skilled at combat, the funniest or the most caring man on the field so why was he the one to make it through. He didn’t have a wife or children to return to, no one but his mother to mourn him, and at 27 he was past the prime age of life, so why him and not 18 year old Donnie who was engaged to a lass back home.

Sometimes he wished he could trade to be in their place. And then he hates himself for thinking it. He tried to view it as a second chance, another life with which he should be making a difference. But most days it was a struggle to get off the couch or out of bed, much less out of the house.

If he did manage it though, it wasn’t to visit neighbors and re-familiarize himself with society, but rather to escape in his mother’s car out into the hills, get away from the noise and shuffle of the Bed and Breakfast and be alone. Sometimes, he managed to sleep.

Eventually it starts to get better. The doubts still reside in the back of his mind but he learns to tuck them away. He devotes himself to his work. He fixes clocks and automobiles at Mack’s shop and helps his mom out around the bed and breakfast. There are days when it feels normal, and eventually the days start to blur together.

There’s one moment that’s crystal clear. There’s a watch in the Tony's store window in Glasgow. His mom had sent him to pick up some files from Mrs.May.

It’s strange, the things that he could remember. VE-Day, the end of the war. They all drove into Lincoln, beer in hand and flying the Union Jack out of the rear window. The city had been abuzz, everyone was out on the streets, laughing and singing and celebrating the victory. It was one of the greatest days of his life; he could go home, he could see his mother again, he wasn’t going to die.

And yet the day started to fade away in his memory, reduced to swirls of blue and red, the laugh of a girl who’s name he couldn’t remember, and a stranger handing him another drink.

But he can remember the watch, sitting there on a pedestal. To this day he sometimes wonders what would’ve happened if he’d bought it. Would it have changed things?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between chapters, this week has been crazy and I've been knocked of my feet and bedridden for the past couple days. Hope you like it.

“Honestly Jemma, you don’t need a man to be happy.”

“Preaching to the choir Skye.” Jemma responded without looking away from her work.

"What I don't understand is why they keep pushing it on you."

"They're not. Hold on -" She pulled through the last of the stitches and tied them off, gave her patient a flask of whisky for the pain and sent him on his way.

Turning back to face her friend, Jemma was struck again by the aura that Skye exuded. An odd sense of knowledge and wisdom, yet uneasy and speculative. Sometimes Jemma wondered whether Skye knew things, she made references that no one could understand and laughed at her own jokes. She cursed more than any woman Jemma knew and had an uncanny knowledge of the happenings elsewhere in the country and throughout England. Jemma just assumed that she had friends with whom she maintained constant communication, Skye was certainly friendly and the amount of ink and parchment that she went through per week was truly astounding.

Unlike many locals, it wasn’t truly a surprise to Jemma when she found out that Skye was fully literate, as Jemma herself was, so she didn’t bat an eye when the girl took up the role of secretary at the castle. They were both questioned often about their respective skills skills and whereabouts they went about learning them. While Jemma would speak of her parents and their emphasis on education, Skye would clam up. Like the others, Jemma often wished to question Skye about her past, and not just where she learnt to read and write, but how a widowed American like her came to be under the employment of Colum Mackenzie. But like everyone else, she was shut down every time she brought up the topic. Apparently it was a sore spot for Skye, especially when questioned about her parents.

Thinking of Skye’s family made her think of her own and the small piece of land left to her name that was currently sitting unoccupied just outside of Inverness. She hadn’t visited in over a year. Maybe it would be a good time for a day trip, gather more supplies from her father’s medicine cabinet and be back in time for the following week’s journey through the clan lands that Dougal had insisted she be a part of; for reasons yet unknown to her person.

“Jemma? Anybody home?”

“Hm? Yeah. Sorry.” Broken out of her daze she went about cleaning up from her last patient, at the rate the clansmen injured themselves, there would be another one the moment dinner was over, no time to waste. “And no, they are not forcing it on me. It’s been two years Skye, that they’ve been housing an unwed healer in their surgery. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement but due to...” She paused, taking a deep breath and willing away the blurriness at the edge of her vision away. “Due to changes in circumstances, I remain, and they, as a result, have the right to probe. Nothing more to it.”

“You mean besides what happened with Dougal”

“He was drunk Skye. Long past any kind of logical cognitive thought.”

“Hmm.” The brunette raised her eyebrow knowingly but appeared to drop the subject as she closed the logbook for the day, re-secured the cork on the ink bottle and cleaned off her quill. She’d just resettled herself in her chair and opened her mouth to speak when there was a knock on the door.

Jemma went to get the door, fully expecting it to be another villager who got his hand stuck in the fence or cut in the stables. She wasn’t expecting Ms. Fitz but she wouldn’t complain. The woman had become a second mother to Jemma throughout her time there and had taught her many a thing about running a household. Not as if she would be requiring those skills in the near future, but the woman’s intent was sweet and Jemma appreciated it.

“Here you go lass, the herbs from the garden you requested.”

“Thank you kindly Ms. FItz. Skye and I are just finishing up, we’ll see you at supper?”

“Of course my dear. Until then.” She smiled before turning and heading back towards the kitchens.

Jemma loved the scent of freshly picked herbs, she closed her eyes and inhaled their essence as she descended the stairs to rejoin her friend. The friend that was in the midst of retying her shawl around her shoulders in preparation to return to her own chambers and prepare for supper.

“A fresh batch?”

“Yes. Actually, it’s reminded me - I need to make a journey home to gather some of my father’s preserved herbs and such. Perhaps tomorrow or the day after, would you care to join me?”

“Another time I promise Jemma, but Colum needs me tomorrow for the Hearing.”

“Right. Perhaps I’ll stay then, just in case there’s another beating as punishment.” Jemma cringed at the memory. At the last Hearing, a local girl had been accused of being disobedient, consorting with young men and exhibiting loose behaviour. Her father wished to have her punished in front of the entire hall for her crimes. Jamie, being the fiery Scot that he was, volunteered to take her punishment for her, and chose fists instead of the strap. The beating went until blood was drawn.

Jemma had questioned his motives later that night as she tended his wounds. He admitted it was because he’d had a similar experience at that age and didn’t want her to experience the same humiliation. She thought it was because he felt something for the lass, but when she brought it up, he adamantly disagreed. Apparently he was holding out for a woman back home, a girl named Claire who was employed by Jamie’s sister back at Lallybroch. Unfortunately Jamie wasn’t likely to be returning home to claim his lairdship anytime soon, not with the price on his head.

“If there is I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t handle- everyone’s gotten a couple bumps and bruises along the way. Leave tomorrow so that’s you’ll be back in time for the rent collection.” Skye patted Jemma’s shoulder on her way towards the door.

"Alright but I'll be telling Jamie not to be so chivalrous while I'm gone." Wiping her hands on her skirt she smiled cheekily at her best friend.

"It's in his nature and he's a stubborn Scot. No guarantees." But the smirk Skye gave over her shoulder made Jemma confident that if anyone could talk Jamie out of his heroic ways, it was Skye.

She checked the weather through the window pane as Skye made her way out. The sun was still hovering on the horizon. Might as well use the remaining time before dinner to pack.

She had a long journey ahead.

 

-

 

It was too much.

The latest couple to arrive had already broken in the bed the night before, why did they feel the need to repeat the process in the morning? All Fitz wanted was to enjoy his tea in peace. Instead, he was trying to avoid thinking about how long it had been since he'd enjoyed a similar please and failing due to the tinkling of his mother's chandelier as the crystals bounced off each other, mimicking the actions of the American and Irishman upstairs.

All he wanted was to get away from the hustle and bustle of the everyday, so the moment his mother is home he kissed her cheek, said “Goodnight. Love you.” then grabbed the keys and got out of the confines of the building.

It’s a path he knows like the back of his hand. He used to run it as a teenager and his mother used to take him to the hills for picnics when he was a child. Lately, he’d been avoiding the road - he’d gotten a weird feeling the past couple times he’d been up that way. But the roads were crowded for some ungodly reason and the only road that was clear enough for him to race away at the speed he wanted to was the winding one in the hills.

He was a good half hour into his ride when the sudden sound of gunshots atop the hill on his left almost sent him into the ditch. Luckily there was no oncoming traffic because the shock caused him to swerve into the other lane. He slammed on the brake to counteract the speed at which is brain was racing.

There was no way. Not in Inverness. Not here.

He’d almost dismissed it as a figure of his imagination when he heard the screams. A woman’s screams. Not the typical scream of his nightmares.

Exiting the car and making towards the sound his brain was scrambled and he couldn’t settle on one cognitive thought. Donnie playing cribbage. His mom doing laundry. Ward’s face when the first shot fired. Instead he tries to figure out what was he going to do when he found the source of the screams. He doesn’t have a gun and has never been good at hand to hand combat, but that’s all he had in the moment so it would have to do. Someone was in trouble and he had to help, there was no other option.

He raised his hands to cover his face and crunched them up into fists in an attempt to quench the shaking that was coursing through every fiber of his being. Every step was a marathon, but he made it. Conquered the pit forming in the bottom of his stomach and crested the hill. What he saw certainly wasn't what he was expecting.

Instead of a woman being held at gunpoint, as he assumed, he came face to face with a circle of stones. A miniature henge, miniature only in that the stones were smaller than the famous ones at StoneHenge. Each stone was at least double his height and massive in proportion.

The circle was clearly man-made, all of the pillars made of remarkably different rock than those of the outcroppings that scattered the landscape. Fitz only had a moment to wonder at how the builders had shaped and transported the stones from their original location to atop the crest - what an engineering feat it must have been - when there was another scream. This one was closer, appeared to be coming from just behind the large stone in the center of the group. He began to run toward the stone but staggered to a stop just inside the perimeter of the circle.

The screams had stopped but what had replaced them was even worse.

His vision blurred and his knees shook as it started out quiet but steadily rose to a thundering roar.

Boots splashing in puddles. Injured comrades stuck on the battlefield, left to die. Airplane engines roaring then stuttering out in fantastic explosions. His men screaming for help. A bomb going off nearby. The cries of the other patients at the hospital. Hand grenades blowing up in the air. Horses struggling to break free of their reins. Shots. Gunshots. Constant fire.

Fitz fell to his knees and covered his ears in an attempt to block it out. Block out the memory of war. Unthinkable violence and bloodshed. All the lives lost. Gunshots. Screams. Shots. Bombs. Shots.

The woman's scream breaks through the storm. Piercing and clear, it couldn't have been part of the nightmare, it was real. Horribly, fiercely, real.

He forced himself to his feet, and made his way to the center stone with purpose. A purpose that faltered when he rounded the rock to find yet more grass, no sign of a struggle.

Another scream. From behind him this time. There had been no one on the other side of the rock, but he checked just to be sure. The storm of sound continuing to bombard his senses.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The moment he thought of it, he deemed himself crazy. He wasn't.

The scream was coming from the stone itself.

He reached out to place his palms on the surface of the pillar. The storm turned into a tornado then a hurricane and a tsunami all at once, then it was gone.

He woke up on the grass, jacket blown open by the wind and head pounding with a major headache that he hoped wasn't a concussion.

It was by far the weirdest phenomenon that he had ever encountered. It appeared, however, like the ordeal was over and dealt with. Standing up and brushing off his clothes he noted that he could actually appreciate the view from the hill now that the soundtrack of his nightmares was gone. It truly was quite beautiful. Smoke from the chimneys in the far off village rising slowly above the treeline.

Then a woman screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

She hadn’t seen it coming.

One moment she was riding along the trail peacefully on her way home and the next she was desperately clinging for control; unknowingly letting her vocal chords express her surprise at the sudden buck of her horse. The scream only seemed to frighten Bashful more and all of a sudden she was flat on her arse in the dirt while he was hightailing it into the woods - and taking half of her supplies with him.

"Bash! Bashful! Come back Bash!" she yelled after the gelding to no avail.

Giving in to the situation, she got to her feet and attempted to rearrange herself before continuing her journey. If she had to walk to Inverness, she would do it with grace and dignity.

Jemma had just started to gather the supplies that Bashful dumped when she heard the ruffling of the leaves behind her and the telltale sound of a man's footsteps on the forest carpet. With no time to make a practical escape she turned to face her intruder.

"Ma'am are you alright?"

She blinked. He swallowed.

"I um, I heard a scream and thought you might be in need of some assistance." The woman was certainly not what he was expecting. She was dressed in what he guessed to be 18th century clothing and his first thought was that she was starring in a movie. Although the lack of cameras and crew said otherwise. Either way, she was stunningly beautiful. Brown eyes with flecks of hazel in the sunlight and auburn hair tied up but with tendrils loose, unintentionally framing her face perfectly.

"I can assure you, I'm quite alright. My horse was spooked and ran ahead." The man was certainly odd. His attire was sleek and he wore a hanging collar of some sort around his neck, the workings of which fascinated her more than slightly. While he was clearly Scottish, he wore no kilt and sported no broche, no identification of his clan. His hair was trimmed, unruly light brown texture promising the potential of unruly curls should it grow out.

"Your horse?" Fitz was more than slightly confused. A horse? No one rode a horse these days, they were so much more work and so much less reliable that automobiles. If fact no one had ridden a horse for travel purposes since the early 1920’s. Almost thirty years before.

"Yes." She hesitated, contemplating whether the way that his hands were tapping against his thighs meant he was looking for an opportunity to attack her. Although If that had been his plan, he would have done it already. She relaxed and went about gathering her things once more. "But truly, I'm fine, and I'm sure Bash will be too. He's been around these parts enough to know his way home."

"And where might that be?" He knelt down to gather the water pouch near his feet in an attempt to try and focus his hands on something other that shaking uncontrollably, remaining effects from the events at the standing stones.

"Pardon?"

"Home. Um. Where would that be?" He handed the water pouch back to her.

She barely knew this man but for some reason she felt like she could trust him. "Inverness."

"Me as well actually, care to make the hike together? Safety in numbers right." Odd, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him before and she’d lived in Inverness for 25 years. Then again, people change as they age.

"A horse can only take one at a time efficiently and I wouldn't want to slow you down." He was oftly nice but she couldn’t ask that much of a stranger, she’d be at least doubling his travel time. She was perfectly capable of the hike from here, it was certainly no more than a day’s travel.

"I don't have a horse. I’m walking anyways. This way we can take shifts overnight.”

"Then how did you manage to find yourself out here? Where are your supplies? Lord knows you'll never make it to Inverness!" She waved at his outfit and gave him a once-over to exemplify her point. Unless his attire had magical concealed pockets in which all of his supplies were stored, he certainly wouldn’t make it using only what he had on his person.

"To be honest, I don't know really. I thought I'd come back down the side of the hill that my car was parked but I didn't see it nor any sign of a road. All my stuff was in the car so I'm empty-handed for the time being. I'll have to admit that I'm rather lost."

"Car? Interesting name for a horse isn’t it?"

He frowned, was she so removed from society that she didn’t know the difference between an automobile and a horse? "Um. Yeah. Nevermind that. Inverness?"

"Alright.” It was out of her mouth before she’d registered his question. “Some company wouldn't hurt."

He nodded then grabbed the saddle bag from the ground and slung it over his shoulder. Realizing that he still didn’t know her name he extended a hand towards her. “Fitz.”

She shook it and smiled. “Jemma.”

That's how their adventure started.

 

-

 

The rest of the day passed in peaceful comradeship. No encounters with large wild animals or bandits.

As their conversation progressed, Jemma felt more and more comfortable and began to share more and more details with Fitz. They talked about her family, how she grew up as a Physician’s daughter, picked up the skills from him and told tales from her current employment as the healer of the clan Mackenzie. He didn’t pry when she deflected the question of why she was still working for Colum by saying “circumstances changed” and she trusted him even more for it.

The more she talked the more he was confused. He’d grown up in Inverness, surely he would have heard of Dr.Simmons. And the clan Mackenzie? He’d seen the name on a tombstone at Culloden but the clan way of life in the Highlands had been extinct since the mid 18th century.

As the afternoon turned into evening, he started to accept the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d travelled back in time. Then again maybe he was dreaming. He subtly pinched himself, no change. So not dreaming then.

_"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains. however improbable, must be the truth."_ Good old Sherlock Holmes. The quote was all that Fitz could think about, so it was no surprise that he missed Jemma’s question. “Sorry.”

“Are you tired?”

He shrugged, not wanting to lie but confused as to why she was asking. “A bit why?”

“There’s a small clearing atop that ridge that’ll do nicely.”

“For what?”

She felt the smile forming on her face before she could stop it, clearly he hadn’t noticed how dark it was getting. ”To make camp.”

Starting upwards, she kept talking. “Luckily Bash didn’t take off with all the food I packed. So it won’t be a hearty supper but it’ll do, and I’ve got a blanket so we won’t freeze.”

“Alright.” He followed and in no time at all they’d reached their site for the night.

As Jemma went about unpacking the food Fitz wandered off into the woods. She figured he was looking for something with which to supplement their meal but she was surprised when he came back with a fish in one hand and a pile of kindling in the other. She knew there was a river nearby, that’s why she’d suggested the location, but had doubted that he’d be able to catch a fish with only his bare hands. That took great skill and she hadn’t taken Fitz as an outdoorsy type of man. She didn’t question it though and continued preparing the food that she’d brought along.

Pretty soon he had a tepee built out of wood and all he needed was a spark. “Do you have a match?”

“A what?”

“A, um, something to start a fire with?”

“Hmm let me see.” She turned around to search through her bag and Fitz’s mind glazed over. The light shining through the leaves above created patterns on her dress and struck her at the perfect angles to highlight her features. Still slightly thrown off by her clothing, he hadn’t noticed the slightness of her waist, which he suspected was being constrained by a corset but would be considered slight anyways. The light catching on the shades of colour in her hair and the arch of her back as she leaned over her bag made his mind start to wonder what she’d look like in the style of his time. His neighbor Bobbi had, or _will have_ , a dress that would look amazing on Jemma; shorter skirt, cinched waistline and cap sleeves to highlight her lean but, what he assumed to be, strong muscles.

She was simply stunning. Her confident personality and intelligence had been at the forefront of his mind but in that moment he was all of a sudden struck by her beauty.

“No sorry.”

Shaken out of his thoughts he wracked his brain for methods with which to start a fire. “How about a string.”

She hesitated. Then unsheathed her knife and cut the top tie off of her dress then handed it over. “Here.”

“Um. Thanks. Ugh could you come put pressure on this.” He raised the small stick in his right hand. She crawled over and he tried his best to avoid looking down at her now slightly more open bosom. He failed.

She took the stick from him and placed it in the small hole in the piece of wood he’d created earlier. “Like this?”

“Yep.” He then took the string and wrapped it around the stick before starting to rapidly pulling on either end of spin the stick in it’s hole. Silently praying that this would work - he could already feel the air getting colder - he increased his pace, hopefully speeding up the process.

Two minutes later they had a fire, but it felt like a lot longer. He grabbed the fish and began to prepare it to be cooked, desperately trying to avoid his companion’s questioning stare.

When the spark caught Jemma let out a sigh of relief. The stick was beginning to hurt her hand so she was glad to be able to toss it into the growing flames of the fire. She sat back on her heels and looked at the man across from her, the light from the fire casting shadows and bright spots upon his skin. Illuminating the angles of his jaw and the curls in his hair. Not for the first time she was struck by how handsome Fitz was. Handsome in his own way and not her typical type, but handsome regardless.

Rugged perhaps would be the right word to explain it. He was apparently comfortable enough in the wild and knew how to start a fire without any flint. Even though his garments didn’t give off the impression of backcountry skill, he'd already demonstrated his proficiency. Then again, maybe that’s what his clothes were designed for, she’d never seen anything like them before. The idea intrigued her and she realized that they’d spent the entire hike talking about her. She’d shared so much about herself with this man and she knew no more than his name, his nationality and that he had a horse named Car.

“Where did you learn to do that. The fire I mean.”

He paused. “France.”

“Why were you in France?”

“I was a soldier.” He didn’t seem ashamed of it but the way his eyes drifted towards the ground made it clear that it wasn’t something that he liked to speak of often.

“Oh in Bordeaux? A friend of mine, Jamie. Fought over there when he was younger.”

He nodded, and tried not to think too much about the slight drop in his chest at the way she smiled slightly at the mention of this _friend_. “Um. Yeah. They teach you the basics.”

“That’s good. Wouldn’t want you freezing to death out there.” He nodded but didn’t respond. Okay so that’s a sore topic. Moving on. “We’ve talked a lot about me, what about you?”

“Not much to tell really. Just me and my mom.” He smiled slightly, gaze still fixed on the rocks of the makeshift fireplace he’d built.

“Okay well what do you do? Besides being a soldier that is.”

“I make things. Design them.” That seemed to spark his attention, apparently he was passionate about his work.

“Clothing?” That would certainly explain his weird garments.

“No gosh no. I’m an engineer.” He paused, debating whether or not to continue. After a moment he decided that he had nothing to lose, if she didn’t understand what he was speaking of then his suspicions would only be confirmed even more. “Machines and such.” SIlently, he hoped that she would understand, that somehow this was all part of a weird dream from which he’d wake up from soon.

“Machines, did you learn about those in France as well?”

Apparently not. “London actually.”

“Well traveled aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

“Unlike me you see, I came up here from Sheffield but I was too young to remember it. Born an Englishwoman, raised a Scot, forever a Sassenach.” She chuckled at herself.

“Sassenach?”

“It means Outlander? Don’t you speak Gaelic?”

“Very limitedly. I wasn’t really a priority for my ma I guess.”

“I see. Well between the two of us we’ll get by should we need to.” She yawned.

He shook his head at her optimism. Jemma was a bright light of hope in the darkness of the mess he’d somehow gotten himself into. In all the confusion of the day, he was so lost and uneasy. But he’d found her and she made him feel like everything was going to be okay. Even if it looked like his situation was rather dire. Noticing her subtle yawn he stoked the fire and nodded towards the blanket she’d set up. “Get some rest, I’ll take the first shift.”

“Are you sure.”

“Absolutely.”

Jemma had been expecting to bundle up and lounge about, let her mind wander for a bit while watching Fitz tend the fire and make sure he was alright staying awake. Instead, she was asleep in no time at all. Apparently she trusted her newest friend more that she probably should and she slept soundly and peacefully, despite the bumpy and cold ground, knowing subconsciously that she was safe under Fitz protection.

There was an elegance to the way she slept. Eyelashes fluttering and loose tendrils of hair hanging over her face swaying with her every breath. It was mesmerizing and he didn't want to disturb such a heavenly sight.

Jemma woke up to the light of dawn peeking through the forest canopy.

Realizing it was morning, she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and looked around the clearing for her companion.“Fitz why didn’t you?” Upon realizing that he was nowhere to be found, she sat up straight and scanned her surroundings. “Fitz!”

She could feel the adrenaline starting to pump through her veins as she processed the limited information she had. Her pack was still there and she was unharmed so they hadn’t been raided, but that didn’t rule out an animal attack. A boar maybe? Dear lord, Fitz was strong enough but a boar was probably stronger. Then again, she would’ve been awoken by the struggle. What if he just left her?

“Jemma. What’s wrong?”

She spun around and was face to face with the man she was so worried about. “Fitz!” She bundled up the blanket in her arms and threw it at his face. “Where did you go!”

“Needed more firewood.” He chuckled as he attempted to detangle himself from the blanket without dropping the wood in his arms.

“You were supposed to wake me up!”

“Well I’m used to all-nighters so it’s nothing new for me and… um… you looked so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Next time you will wake me up. Promise.” When he hesitated she added. “Promise me Fitz.”

“Fine, I promise to wake you up next time we’re out in the wilderness alone.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his obvious discomfort saying it. Such a gentleman.

“Come on, let’s get going. I’d say it’s no more than a half-day to Inverness and I for one would like to be home in time to make some tea before bed.” She turned to pack up her bag.

“You’re so British.” Fitz chuckled slightly along with a small shake of the head and a smile.

“Care to join me when we get there?” She looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze, practically daring him to accept her offer.

“Well, who could say no to tea.” He stepped around her, grabbed the bag and stuffed in the blanket before throwing it over his shoulder and standing up straight. Gesturing towards the path down the ridge to the trail he mockingly bowed to escort her on their way.

“And you Scots say you’re not British.” She muttered under her breath as she passed.

“Never said I wasn’t.” He laughed and followed her down the hill.


	4. Chapter 4

The pair reached their destination with lots of time to spare.

Jemma wordlessly invited Fitz into her small home, unlocking the door and leaving it open behind her on the way in. He’d grown rather quiet as they approached the town. She had a sneaking suspicion as to why that was but didn’t pry, he'd share with her when he was ready.

They enjoyed their tea in relative silence compared to the constant ebb and flow of their conversation for the duration of their journey.

The sight of the city, well town, had been the final straw for Fitz. It was not the Inverness in which he grew up; no lights, no radio tower. Mack’s shop wasn’t on the corner, and his family’s Bed and Breakfast hadn’t been built yet. That was when the harsh reality of his situation really hit home - he certainly wasn’t in 1945. He had no home here.

He knew it had something to do with the standing stones but he had no idea how they work, or whether it would be possible to go back home. He didn’t know why he was here. But he’d been taken from his time, ripped away from his life and his mom, and deposited here, in this time, with this amazing woman. He wasn’t about to complain about that part.

Said woman also makes excellent tea.

He sat at the table even after he’d finished his cup, still trying to take in all the information around him as his host went about gathering various items from around the house.

Although she was planning to stay the night, Jemma wanted to be prepared to go first thing in the morning. She quickly ran outside to the field to look for Bash, who, as expected, was grazing the overgrown grass growing along the fence lining their property. “Good boy.” She tossed him an apple and went back inside.

Fitz was still sitting at her kitchen table when she returned. She had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon and she realized all of a sudden that she wasn’t sure that she wanted him to - and she wasn’t sure he could even if he wanted to. She wasn’t sure he had a place to go, but she wasn’t going to ask, he’d tell her when he was ready.

“Jemma I-”

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” His face went completely void of colour. Oh god no, not like that (although she’d considered it briefly). She took a deep breath. She had a feeling that once she started speaking, everything would spill out at once.“My parent’s room is still well kept and you can sleep there tonight if you want, because -"

“Jemma there’s something -”

“I know there’s something that you’re not telling me Fitz, and I know that you didn’t grow up in Inverness.” She noticed the way his eyes dropped to focus on the tea leaves in the bottom of his cup.

“I’m not asking you to tell me anything that you’re not ready to. I trust you’ll tell me when I need to know them. But for now I know that you don’t have a proper place to sleep tonight so please take the spare bed here. I’m going to bed now so I won’t know if you leave until the morning and I won’t be offended if you do. But the bed is yours if you want it.” It all comes out in one breath and she tried not to question the fact that she’s willingly offering a almost stranger to stay overnight in her home, with easy access to her most precious belongings and unattended to do as he wishes.

Fitz could feel his jaw opening and closing a couple of times as he searched for the words to say - how could she read him so well after such a short time? “Thank you.”

“First door on the right. The loo is at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight Fitz.”

“Goodnight Jemma.”

While Jemma retreated to her childhood room, Fitz took a bit longer to retire. He felt like a burglar but he needed to know. Carefully searching through the various parchments and books on the desk in the corner he scanned every page for a date, a reference point from which he could attempt to comprehend the world around him.

He was rewarded when he found an offer of employment addressed to Ms. J Simmons from Colum Mackenzie, dated January 22nd 1741. Using the knowledge that she’d been working for Colum for two years, Fitz guessed that it was the spring of 1743 - assuming that Inverness’ spring weather in 1743 is not much different from it’s spring weather in 1946.

The information helped him out slightly. He knew from school that the Jacobite rising of 1945 will lead to the battle of Culloden which takes place in April 1946 and therefore the Jacobite uprisings would most likely be in their full under-the-radar swing. That would explain why the clan Mackenzie still exists as more than a name on a tombstone.

Maybe he’d ask to go with her, back to Castle Leoch that is. Not like he has anywhere else to go - and in all honestly, he would like to stay with Jemma as long as possible. He felt like some way, somehow, the two of them were destined to meet. Like they were two sides of the same coin - and he’d only known her for just over 36 hours.

Sighing at the mess his life had become, he made his way to her parents’ room and settled in for a much needed night’s sleep. He was so tired he probably could’ve slept on a rock but the hay mattress certainly helped.

He drifted into the unconscious with dreams of paradoxes and alternate futures due to his actions. He dreamt of Culloden and the bloodshed and the war and his comrades - and he’s shaking.

Then he dreams of Jemma and the shaking stops. His mind is clear and he sleeps peacefully.

 

-

 

Jemma woke up first in the morning. Noticing Fitz’s sweater-coat-thing still hanging over the back of her chair she set about making breakfast for two instead of one.

Granted there wasn’t much food around, especially since she’d shared the food she’d packed for the trip, so the meal wasn’t substantial and they’d have to stop in town and buy some more for the return journey. Or she would. Or they, if Fitz is going back with her. With a start she realized that she'd naturally assumed that he would.

The man in question, however, appeared in the kitchen before she could give it too much thought and she couldn't help but giggle at his disheveled hair and again upon the grumpy face he shot her for her first reaction. "Morning. Sleep well?"

The grumpy scowl turned to what looked like embarrassment as he turned his attention to the ground and a slight tinge of red appeared in his cheeks. "Yes thank you."

"I'm glad. I've made breakfast."

“Really you didn’t need to-” His stomach growled loud enough that she was sure her neighbors heard it. “Um, yeah thanks.” He shuffled over to the table and sat down as she placed their plates on the table.

Chatting amicably over the course of their meal, Fitz tried not to think about how comfortable he was there. So far removed from his time and his home and his mom, yet sharing breakfast with Jemma was easy. It was almost domestic, and he noted that never before had he felt so free the morning after sleeping over somewhere.

Then again, he hadn’t slept over, just slept, so that probably had something to do with it.

Throughout the meal Jemma couldn’t help but think about how her parents would’ve reacted if they were to walk into the room to see their daughter alone with an, admittedly, strange man at the kitchen table. Maybe they’d think that she was housing a stray traveller, maybe they’d think she’d been attacked and was cooking for her captor, or maybe they’d think she was having an affair with a man from out of town. She smiled a bit at the thought of her parents even though she had a feeling that Fitz is more than just from out of town.

"Thanks for breakfast, it was delicious."

Snapped out of her thoughts she takes a moment to give him a soft smile. "You're very welcome."

‘I guess I’ll go, grab my stuff,” standing up and pushing in his chair he fumbled a bit wits hands and avoided her gaze.

Jemma nodded slightly and dropped her attention to the tea in front of her, using it’s warmth to keep her hands warm.

When he returned with his jumper in hand she was still nursing her drink. “Um. Thanks again. For everything. I… I guess I’ll just, I’ll just go yep.”

“Where will you go?”

Still facing the door he wrung the jumper in his hands and shuffled slightly on his feet. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps you could -”

“Maybe - well I don’t know, you might -”

“I mean unless you have other plans. But if you don’t-”

He had to get it out before he could second guess of himself. He spun around mid-sentence and met her gaze. “Not want me there but could I possibly -”

“Then you could come with me.”

“Head back with you?”

They finished their respective sentences at the same time and silence fell over the room, but then Jemma nodded and Fitz was filled with relief. He wasn’t going to have to part ways with her for at least another day.

“We’ve got to stop in town and get some more food though.”

He nodded, not having completely processed the idea that he was going back with her. “Sure, yeah. Want me to go while you pack up anything you need? I’ve only got the clothes on my back so…”

“Okay.” Here, reaching into her pocket she pulled out some money and handed it over. “We only need stuff for lunch, we should be at Leoch for dinner.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be back.”

Once he was gone, Jemma realized that she had just given most of the money she had on her person to someone that she’s known for less than 48 hours. For all she knew, that could’ve been his plan, to steal her money and make a break for it. But Fitz seemed like a trustworthy person, and she had an affinity to trust him, so she hadn’t even questioned her decision to send him off with her money.

She popped back the last bit of tea and went about cleaning up from breakfast and packing for the ride back to Leoch. Saddling up Bash she filled his bags with the last of her father’s herbs and one of her mother’s shawls, she was reminded by the lasting soreness in her palm to grab the flint off of the mantle on the way out. No more fire starting with sticks would be needed, she couldn’t afford to lose another lace on her dress.


	5. Chapter 5

They arrived at Leoch just before dinnertime.

Having visited the then abandoned castle when he was younger, Fitz was taken aback upon their arrival by the amount of life the estate exuded. Children were playing in the courtyard, vendors were selling goods, women in the fields were gathering herbs. Horses neighs blended in with the chatter, laughter and occasional yell of the villagers to create an undeniable ambiance of simple living. The noise and the commotion didn’t bother him, in fact he found it almost peaceful.

Jemma on the other hand, found herself missing home and the admittedly delightful journey that she’d spent with Fitz. Now it was back to the politics, the pressure, the chaos. The expectations and the realities of her life at Leoch. Add onto that, the pressure she’d placed on herself to take care of Fitz, and she was more than slightly stressed upon her return.

She escorted her companion through the grounds, saying hello to the kitchen maids as she passed and nodding hello to Willy the stable lad as she tied Bash up in his stall. Fitz was speechless, trying to take in everything and following her lead back across the grounds, into the kitchens of the castle and down to corridor to what he assumed was her room.

It didn’t even cross Jemma’s mind to think about the way their situation might have appeared to others. A mysterious man alone with her in her room. Not exactly proper etiquette. 

Fitz noticed it though. The way the serving maids gave them strange looks out of the corner of their eyes and whispered quietly to each other in the alcoves. He followed her down the steps, closing the door behind him, and took in his surroundings. Clearly she was a meticulous organizer; every container was labelled and sorted alphabetically on the shelves, the books stacked perfectly, not a spec of dust anywhere.

His gaze followed his host over as she went to place her items on the hearth. “Jemma. Um. The girls, ugh the ladies outside kept giving us weird looks.”

“Laoghaire? She’s probably just...” Jemma stopped that thought immediately, and turned to tend the flames in the fire. Fitz wouldn’t want to get involved with Laoghaire. She’d pounce on him before he could process what was going on. She’s nice and all, but really she’s far too young for Fitz... yes that’s why. Jemma thought that Fitz looks around her age, so she assumed he was about 27, versus Laoghaire’s 16. Truly, she needed a boy. And Fitz, well Fitz was a man. A very, attractive, handsome, man.

“Just what?” Fitz probed and made his way over to her table, laying out the bags he’d helped her carry in.

“Probably just wondering what you’ve done to yourself to warrant a trip to the healer the minute that I return. Pass me the green bottle please.” He had his back to her and the arch of his shoulders looked really appealing in the light that was refracting through the uneven window pane. She had an urge to smooth her hands over the texture of his sweater-jacket thing. She should ask him what it’s called, it looked very cozy. Before she'd registered the movement of her feet she was standing right behind him.

He almost dropped the vial he was holding when he turned around to find himself face to face with Jemma. She was even more beautiful up close and her breath tickling his neck paired with her proximity made his heart skip a beat. When she didn’t flinch or make a move to step back he wracked his brain to try and remember what she’d said and find a response.

“But I’m not injured.” That came out a lot weaker than he wanted it to.

“I know that, but they don’t, and why else would a man be following me so closely and hurriedly through the castle towards the surgery?” She stepped back from him and he didn’t miss the way her bright eyes lost a bit of their shimmer. IN fact, her entire demeanor seemed to shrink slightly. “Honestly they should know me enough to know that I would never bring just anyone down here without a valid -”

“Mistress Simmons!” There was a large slam as the door of the surgery smacked against the wall with considerable force, interrupting Jemma mid-sentence. A large man with hair redder than any man’s he had ever seen stood atop the stairs glaring down at Jemma in front him. “So it’s true then?”

Fitz pretended not to notice the way that Jemma’s shoulders relaxed upon discovering the identity of their intruder. He didn’t want to think about the dangers that might be lurking around if she was on guard whenever she didn’t know who was paying her a visit. As a healer, she’d get tons of unannounced visitors every day. In the meantime though, it appeared that the man wasn’t a threat - but that didn’t mean that he would be letting his own guard down. “Ah Jamie.”

“So it’s true.” The Scot - Jamie, was clearly not as calm as his host, descending the steps slowly but with threatening purpose. Fitz recalled that she’d mentioned a friend named Jamie the first night they spent together and he relaxed slightly. Then he noticed the way the red-headed Scot was looking at him, and he tensed up again. He could see that this man used to be a soldier, a real battle-ready soldier - in fact he had a sword of some sort hanging from his belt. (Fitz tried to block the memories and doubts that were nagging the back of his brain, how Trip was the real soldier, the hero, not him. Why did he survive and not his friend. Trip could have given this man a run for his money.)

“Pardon?” Jemma’s lilting English tone broke the all-together eerie silence that had fallen over the room.

“That you’ve taken in a beggar.”

“A beggar?” Jemma had the decency to acknowledge the fact that while Fitz’s clothes weren’t  _ conventional _ , they certainly didn’t identify him as a beggar. Grasping for an explanation for her newest friend’s presence in her room she settled for the first thing she could think of. Upon later reflection she realized that the constant nagging of those closest to her over the past couple of months were the reason that the idea came to mind.

Fitz could almost see the steam coming out of her ears and he could clearly hear the surprise in her voice. Did his presence here mean that much to her? Then she turned around to face him and he could see the gears turning in her mind. All of a sudden she smiled and met his gaze again.

“He’s my fiance.” She raised her eyebrows and opened her eyes a little wider in an attempt to tell him to play along. She told herself that it was a signal for him to dare and try to challenge her but really it was a natural reaction to the idea. 

_ Her what? _ Staring at Jemma, Fitz felt his jaw start to go slack before regaining control in order to maintain whatever facade she was presenting to the tall, fiery-red haired man. She must have a reason for it, and despite the short amount of time that he’d known her, he trusted whatever crazy plan she’d come up with. She seemed like a logical person, a rule follower, and he could respect that - pick up on her cues and play along. That is assuming that she’ll have to tell him her reasoning at some point.

“Your what?” The Scot in the doorway appeared to be just as surprised with her proclamation.

“Jamie you’ve been badgering me to get married since I got here.” She turned and made her way across the room towards her friend, eyes shining and defiant towards the newest addition to the small chamber. “After recent events, I sent for a friend of mine from childhood and met him when I returned to the farm. Mr. Leopold was orphaned around the same time I was and has been employed as a blacksmith wherever he could find work. We kept in touch by courier and, after the events of the Gathering..." She paused and gave the Scot a rather pointed look. "He came immediately upon receiving my letter requesting his presence, no doubt in search of a familiar face, but agreed to marriage during our return to Leoch. He doesn't have much..." She stopped rambling at Jamie’s attempt to whisper under his breath but needed him to repeat it to believe what she thought she'd heard. "Pardon me?"

The man raised his gaze to meet Fitz’s and the shorter man felt a tremor go through his bones as he spoke, this was not someone he wanted to anger. “A familiar face or a chance to sow his seed.”

“Jamie Fraser!” Jemma however, clearly had no quarrels standing up to the man.

Jemma wasn’t afraid of Jamie, she had no reason to be. He’d never been anything but friendly. Yes he was aggressive at times but that’s no different than any other man and he was only like that when he had a valid reason to be.

“I ‘ken the ways of a lad Jemma and I willn’a lie to ye.” He approached her as he said it, putting himself almost directly between herself and Fitz.

“I appreciate your concern Jamie but in this case I assure you it is misplaced.”

“Jemma I-”

“Listen!” She practically yelled in order to be heard over the Scot whose face had gone as red as his hair. “Mr. MacTavish, Fitz here is my guest and I’ll not have it going around that he is a beggar or any other disturbing notion that you’ve come up with. He is my fiancé and he is to be treated as such.”

For a woman of such small stature, Fitz was taken aback by the way in which Jamie immediately stopped speaking and let her have her piece. Apparently there was - or were a few men in that day of age that could respect a woman.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of each of their breathing - a symphony in and of itself. Jemma’s slightly heavier than the men’s because of how much she’d used her voice in such a short time.

Jemma and Jamie continued to stare each other down. Jemma fingers tapping out a rhythm against her shirts and Jamie’s hand lingering ominously on the hilt of his sporran. Fitz was attempting to hide the shake in his right hand as he watched the scene between the two in front of him.

Jemma wasn’t going to back down on this. How dare he? He knew nothing about Fitz, how could he say such a thing? Jamie may have the stubborn blood of a Fraser but she can match him when she needed too. It had only happened twice before; when he dislocated his shoulder and wanted to train a new foal even though she had given strict orders for no strenuous activity, and the time when she took him with her when she visited the farm and he tried to convince her to sell the plot and move permanently to Leoch.

Apparently he realized that this stand-off would end similarly because it wasn’t long before his shoulders relaxed and his gaze dropped to the floor.

“I cann’a make promises for the rest of the lads but aye,” he nodded slightly and glanced over at Fitz. “From me he’ll get no such remarks. But get some clothes you ken, can't have him parading around the castle looking like a gypsy. Not when he’s introduced to Colum."

"Alright then."

"You must also announce the arrangement on three separate occasions for it t'be valid."

"Dinner tonight shall be the first then, and Colum has already asked me to accompany Dougal on his journey to collect the rents in a week's time so we will plan the rest to take place before then and the event after we return."

Jamie nodded, almost solemnly.

“Actually, Jamie could Fitz borrow some clothes from you for the time being? All his belongings were taken when we were ransacked on the road.”

“Ransacked? Are you hurt?” At the mention of the word he perked up immediately, expression filled with concern. Fitz could see how much Jamie cared for Jemma as a person and a friend, which was more than he was expecting based on his preconceived notions of the interactions between men and women of the time. However he could sense a glimmer of something else in Jamie’s reaction as well, and Fitz wasn't quite sure what to make of it other than acknowledge that it made his brain feel a little bit fuzzy.

“No, we’re fine. Fitz warded them off.”

“Aye. Well then,” Jamie turned to face him and Fitz watched the fire in his eyes dim slightly. “Thank ye for takin' care of Miss. Simmons here.”

“Um yeah. Anytime.” Jemma thought the way Fitz shuffled back and forth as his head bowed slightly under Jamie’s attention was rather adorable.

“I’ll grab some clothes for ye. Any specific tartan I should look for? Apologizes but I d’nna recognize  _ Leopold _ .”

He panicked slightly, trying to work his way back down his family’s tree to find an appropriate clan. Comparing what he knew against the names on the tombstones at Culloden and considering what would make sense with “Leopold” or “Fitz”.

“Fitzgerald.” Noticing his eyes widening, Jemma piped up before Fitz could find an appropriate answer and he was glad that she did. He honestly had no idea, the complicated Scottish bloodlines of his heritage had always given him a headache. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Fitz if you could grab everything else."

Jamie nodded and turned to leave. Redirecting her attention to the other Scot in the room, Jemma noticed the way his eyes had glazed over slightly. He had done a good job under the sudden pressure and had adapted to her plan without questioning or hesitation which she greatly appreciated. She knew that she would need to explain herself eventually but in the moment what she needed was a warm cup of tea and a good conversation, like the ones they had on the road, to distract her from the politics and scheming that she was sure would happen at dinner. 

Yet as his gaze met hers at the exact moment the door of the surgery closed behind Jamie, Jemma noticed a guarded but interested sense of curiosity in the depths of her newest friend's ocean blues.

What had she gotten herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time for this chapter but I regretfully say that this will be the last chapter for a while. Due to some personal stuff this fic has really fallen by the wayside and I apologize for that, especially because it was a gift - and there's nothing worse than an unfinished gift. I was so exited about this universe and writing fitzsimmons into it but I am really struggling whenever I try to put something down, which isn't often due to the aforementioned personal stuff. So yeah. Sorry once again. Let me know what you think about this chapter, maybe it will inspire me.


End file.
